The Crow and The Dove
by Nun Sandwich
Summary: A short story set before the events of ASoIaF. Sansa finds comfort in someone she did not expect.


**The Crow and The Dove**

Sansa wandered through the passages of the castle's upper stories, enjoying the rare peace and quiet of the day as she headed to her chamber - due in part to the absence of her irritating little sister.

How she had persuaded them, Sansa would never know, but her Lady mother and Lord father had reluctantly allowed Arya to ride out with them on the hunt, along with Robb, Jon and Theon.

Sansa could not bear the thought of the poor animals shot through with arrows, much less whitness it herself, and could not understand why a girl of nine would want to join them; though she was glad to be free of Arya's annoyances for a time.

She had sat with Septa Mordane a while, as Lady Catelyn had instructed, but the Septa had soon dosed off, snoring softly over her needlework. For once, Sansa had grown tired of the intricate embroidery, and left the woman to her slumber. _Arya is not doing it, and I will not either._

A little voice called out to her as she passed the nursery, 'Will you play with me, Sansa?'

Her youngest brother smiled up at her as she paused in the open doorway. She hesitated, 'Where is Bran? Will he not play with you, Rickon?'

The little boy shook his head. Sansa supposed Bran was climbing towers somewhere outside, and pittied the boy for his lack of playmates. Rickon was barely more than a babe, and Bran was seven, after all; his interests surpassing games in the nursery.

'I will play with you a little while, then.' She could not really resist her little brother, with his sweet aubern curls and plump cheeks, for she always had been a motherly sort of girl.

She settled herself awkwardly upon the floor beside him, watching him at play with the miniature wooden castle that each of the Stark children had enjoyed before him. Rickon had thrust the familiar princess doll into her hands, eager for her to join in, but it remained on her lap. Sansa had given up her toys years ago; she was unsure now of how to play.

Rickon did not seem to mind, perhaps he was just glad of her company, _poor little thing._

A shadow fell across them from the doorway. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Old Nan come to check on her charge, but the figure that blocked the arch was far larger than the elderly nurse-maid.

'Who are you?' Sansa stammered out, her heart racing at the sudden appearance of the strange man. 'What is it you want?'

The man did not answer, only stepped forward into the room. Sansa caught the glimmer of steel within the folds of his dark cloak, and steadily rose to her feet, pulling a wide-eyed Rickon with her.

_ I know not what to do, I know not what to do... _Would anyone hear if she shouted? She did not think so. _Even if they should, it would be too late._

'My father will be here any minute, Ser,' she lied, and thought she heard a faint laugh from within the man's hood. She took a step back, protectively moving the little boy behind her as the man advanced. 'He will take off your head,' she warned.

Rickon began to cry, but she could not soothe him; she was frightened herself.

_ In songs and stories, pretty maids are always saved from danger_... _but this is not a story. _

Though she could not see his face, Sansa could feel the stranger's eyes on her, weighing up her slight form; anticipating, perhaps, her next move.  
When he suddenly lunged, sword in hand, she darted to the side, dragging her brother out of the way.

'Run, Rickon!' she yelled, pushing him from her.

Their assailant rounded on her, blade held aloft as she skirted the wooden castle underfoot. The man kicked the toys from his path, and time seemed to slow to an impossible rate as he brought his sword down through the air.

She ducked, eyes squeezed tightly shut, unable to stop the scream that burst from her lips -

But the blow never came.

The sword clattered to the floor, and Sansa tentatively peeked out from behind her hands.

She had often daydreamed of brave knights rescuing her - but never had she envisioned Jon Snow to be one of them.

Her half-brother drew his blade from the man's back, ruby red with blood, and the man sank slowly to his knees, toppling over as his last breath left him.

Sansa let out a whimper, and found herself enveloped in Jon's arms, her tears dampening his tunic as he held her. She could not remember ever embracing him before.

'Are you hurt?' he asked. 'What of Rickon?'

Sansa shook her head, clinging to him. 'I thought you were with the hunt,' she stuttered out between sobs.

'My horse went lame, there was little point in following on foot. I would not have heard you shout, but for the need to change my boots.'

That made her weep harder. 'I was so frightened, I did not know what to do.'

Jon gently stroked her red hair, 'Hush, you are safe now.'

'I thought I was going to die.'

'I know, but you did not.'

Sansa buried her face in his chest. She had never expected to find comfort in Jon's arms, was surprised to learn that she could. There had always been a distance between them, yet he had not hesitated to console her, and she had fallen easily into his embrace, all prejudices against him forgotten in the moment.

'Come, dry your eyes, sister.' Sansa could not help but smile a little as Jon dried her wet cheeks on his sleeve, though she knew she did not deserve his kindness. _He is my brother, and no different from Robb, or Bran and Rickon. I should not have treated him so._

She had seen him only as a bastard before, lead by her mother's example; but as she studied Jon's face now, Sansa saw he was more alike their father than any of the true-born Stark siblings, knew the likeness extended beyond his grey eyes and dark hair. And though she herself greatly resembled Lady Catelyn in appearance, on the inside she was all Ned.

Sansa would look at Jon Snow more kindly from now on.


End file.
